Blood like Roses
by The Leaf 180
Summary: Izaya's shoulders began to shake as he sank to his knees, gripping his chest, stained with crimson.  The last thing he remembers is a loud silence, accented only by the sharp crescendo of a dying man's laugh that he does not recognize as his own.


"Izaya…!"

Shizuo vaulted himself off the pavement, his rage filled eyes locked on his target, his feet slapping against the pavement in synch with his accelerating heartbeat. Civilians scrambled to get out of their way, and Izaya slinked in between couples, like the slippery little snake he was.

A surge of white hot rage blinded him as he used its energy to push himself forward. The rhythm of his feet hitting ground to the pounding of his heart, charged with adrenaline, to the rush of breath, to the heaving oh his chest, to the voice in his head, chanting, _kill kill kill…_

He could still see the image of Izaya's arrogant grin burned into the back of his head, and he used it as motivation. That conceited, selfish bastard! Thinking he was superior, with his stupid pride and knowledge, the narcissistic little flea! Shizuo would teach him a lesson; he'd show Izaya not to make a fool of him!

He hated that man, really, truly did, and a hunger drove him onward, they were connected like a hunter to its prey. And nothing would get in his way. He would make sure of it. He would only be satisfied when he saw the lifeless body of Izaya Orihara.

Eventually the duo reached a deserted alley way. From the flickering of his victim's eyes to the stupid, smug look he always wore, Shizuo knew he had him cornered this time. Because Ikebukuro was his territory and he knew every spare inch of it. And this little bastard did not, and that's why he should stay away from Ikubukuro damn it!

Rage. Fiery and uncontrollable, danced in his eyes. His anger seeping into his voice as he let out a snarl.

"I'll kill you!"

Shizuo saw red as he lunged for his rival, all he could see was his face through his haze, alit with fury.

_Bang!_

Time seemed to stand still as the bartender's scowl twisted into a look of confusion, then to horror. The information broker's smirk contorted into one of shock and agony.

The two shared a bewildered glance as blood spurted from the open hole in the scrawny man's chest. But it only lasted a moment, one that seemed to stretch a millennium, for then there was a sound.

It was a low, gurgling sound, erupting from deep within the man's soul, tinged with hysteria and insanity. Izaya's shoulders began to shake as he lurched forward, sinking to his knees, his hand gripping his chest, stained with crimson.

It took Shizuo a moment to connect the dots, and then he realized that the cackle was coming from Izaya. He blinked in confusion. _Who…?_ But then there was rage, again. Who _dared_ kill the flea before he did? That was _his _job damn it! And he was gonna kill who ever took that opportunity away from him.

He still needed his revenge damn it! He needed it, he yearned for it, from deep down in the core of his being to the tip of his fingers, he wanted it. And if he couldn't kill Izaya, he could at least avenge him.

A cold, fire burns within him. It had perfect this time! The stars were all aligned, and all he had to do was reach forward and put his fist through the smug fool's head. And someone…he didn't know who but when he did… he wasn't going to let them escape him. Oh no no _nonono._ He would never forget this.

The icy silence is only shattered by Izaya's broken laugh, he hiccupped, gasping for air, then continued laughing that eerie snicker, tinged with madness.

Shizuo could have laughed with him, but his world was drowned out by the chanting in his head. _Kill, Kill, Kill…_

Shizuo burst into action, moving faster than he had ever before; he pounced on the stranger in the shadows, pinpointing his location deadly accuracy. With a glare in his eyes, killing intent flooding into the air around him, poisonous against the hostile atmosphere.

He swung his arm out, allowing a tiny bit of pleasure from the look of fear on the stranger's face. It was over before it could begin; Shizuo snapped his neck with one fluid movement. He was dimly disappointed that the culprit died so easily, he would have enjoyed making his death as slow and painful as possible.

He let out all his pent anger, with nothing to stop him, no restraint. With nothing holding him back, he straddled the man's hips and let his rage loose, feeling the crunch of bones beneath his knuckles and the gush of blood spraying on his face.

This was what he loved about the kill. The power he felt. He let loose his fury, lost in the turmoil, right now it was only him and his kill.

If he had not been so preoccupied, he would have heard someone choke out in the background, "I… just... love… humans…!"

And then the sickening thump of a dead body collapsed on the ground. He would have heard Izaya hit the floor, slumped in death. And he would have known.

He would have witnesses Izaya's surrender. But he didn't. And then he would have wondered if there was any other way to die worse than Izaya's, the music of murder his only company. Drifting off to the sound of Shizuo's fist and the splatter of blood splashing onto the alley walls.

He periodically punched the man, his actions only ceasing when he stopped for a breath. His eyes wide with shock as the adrenaline wears off. He only then hears the empty silence through the blood roaring in his ears, only then takes in the blood drenched all over his now ruined outfit. His hands were soaked in red.

He gazed down at his prey, his limbs bent like broken twigs, his neck discolored and limp, his face, mangled and unrecognizable, barely attached to his head, which rolled limply to the side. He then became aware of his heaving breath, sounding loud and unnatural as if bounced around the desolated alley.

He felt a strange tug in his heart. What would he do now? It took a while, too long, but eventually Shizuo peeled himself of the cooling body of the murder. He regarded him with cold eyes, and he forced his stiff legs to move.

Izaya had fallen on his front, and Shizuo could see his trademark jacket soiled with crimson. He knelt down next to his rival, gazing at him through narrowed eyes. His half lidded gaze was thoughtful. He didn't know what to do; no one would believe that it wasn't him that killed Izaya.

But he also knew he couldn't just leave him here, alone in a dark alley. Because this was his rival…but beyond that… he was also his friend. Shizuo closed his eyes and sighed. He expected Izaya to sit up at any moment now, and laugh at Shizuo for his gullibility, then skip home murmuring about how he loved humans. Leaving Shizuo alone and bloody in an alley, feeling like a fool.

But the body of Izaya was pale and lifeless and so very dead.

Undeniable guilt shook him. If only he had left Izaya alone instead of chasing him, leaving him for another day, Izaya would still be here. He would be looking down at him with that smug smile of his and not limp and cold and dead.

Why did he always let his temper get to the better of him? Why was his wrath always fueling the hate, possessing him and leaving nothing but death and blood in his wake? Why did it always end with someone leaving? Why is it always about leaving?

But his answers remain unspoken, for they will receive no answers.

Tentatively, Shizuo grabbed Izaya by the shoulders, slowly turning him over and taking in his gory front. The man's eyes were glassy, as they gazed off at something in the distance. Something he could not see.

Shizuo slumped slightly in submission, bent over his rival, his head bowed in grief. And he mourned. He mourned to the man with the cunning smile, the sly attitude, the sharp eyes that miss nothing, so smart and guileful for his own good.

The man who always had an answer, could always turn the tide to his favor, could always predict the next move. He always found a way out; he was always one step ahead. The man who infuriated him to no end with his devious ways and treacherous thinking.

Izaya was dead.

No… that was crazy... someone like Izaya didn't just die like that. Izaya couldn't die. He was smarter than that. He wasn't allowed to die until Shizuo killed him and finally released all the fury he had been holding inside for so long. He wasn't supposed to die! It wasn't supposed to be like this!

But then he thought. Who was he really angry at? Had he pinpointed his anger on Izaya for no reason? Just looking for an excuse to get it all out, for that nice lady at the shop who had given him and his brother milk so long ago. He was out of control, and he destroyed her shop, and someone had to pay… So he chose Izaya, who really had no connection to the incident at all.

Who did he really hate? Had he focused the inner disgust on Izaya for no reason other than what he was feeling for himself? Just looking for a scapegoat, like if he just kept punching and killing maybe the frustrated feeling that was boiling inside him would finally go away.

But now, there is nothing. Only an empty hole, like a wound, sucking up all of life's pleasures.

He had needed someone to blame, and Izaya was there for him. Maybe it was because he needed someone to keep up with him, pose a real challenge; maybe he needed something to do with himself during the day. And Izaya was the only one fit enough to be his rival.

Maybe it was because Izaya was the only one too see his potential, to see him as more than a freak.

Anger bubbled up from inside, frustration and so much pain pouring out into the open air. But he remained silent. He felt hollow, only knowing he was alive by the pounding of his racing heart and his trembling shoulders.

What were the informant's last moments like? Were they filled with disorientation and panic, or had he known all along, and this was just another part of his crafty plot? Were they painful and slow, dragging on until he could only wish for death as an escape?

Or were they clear and bright against the dank alley, accented only with the sharp crescendo of a dying man's laugh? His last breath, was it spent in vain, or heard by other ears? What was he thinking, was he cursing his bad luck and timing, or was he glad?

Was he tired of his life, had he arranged for this man to kill him, had he led his rival to this very alley on purpose? Shizuo knew it was not beyond him, but he refused to think Izaya was like that. Izaya was always on top.

Even in death.

He takes another look at the informant's face, his eyes half lidded and glossy, his mouth curved upward into a smirk, he looked like the Izaya of old. The one he wanted to remember. Shizuo closed Izaya's eyes, cautiously, as if he still believed the man would spring back into life.

Shizuo took a long look at himself, hunched over his onetime enemy, swaying slightly. A sob broke past his guard, and overwhelming fatigue dizzied him. His glasses slid off him, silently falling to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, halting the flow of tears. His shoulders shook with loss as he clenched his fists into the ground.

There he stayed, for how long he did not know. Grieving for someone who had seen him as more than a monster, and had accepted him as a rival. The only one to give the word friend a meaning. Because that's what Izaya was... his closest and only friend. It was a twisted, makeshift friendship, but they found a way to make it work.

Upon leaving, he clutched the body of the man he thought he hated. He never realized just how small Izaya was, and the thought makes his insides coil uncomfortably. He stumbled down the back roads blindly, Izaya's blood seeping into his shirt. It has long since stopped flowing. Numbness fills him, stealing away everything. Leaving him incapable of feeling, he has dead eyes, they have lost their shine. He is a changed man now.

As he carries the body through the backstreets, some lowlifes take heed of him. They gaze at him through new eyes, glimmering with respect. They see him as a warrior who has brought the death of Izaya, in a violent brawl, barely coming out alive, but victorious.

But there is only defeat in his eyes. He doesn't want their respect. He doesn't want anything. They think he killed Izaya. They know nothing.

His head is spinning and he staggers, feeling like he cannot take another step. His feet buckle and give out from under him, and the man he was carrying tumbles out of his grip, onto the cold unforgiving ground. If Shizuo could think, he would have thought that this was a good way for him to die.

If Shizuo could hope, he would hope that no one would find him, so he could die alone, just like Izaya did. Because without Izaya, what use was there to live? He used Izaya as a motivation, that he could not die because he needed to kill Izaya, and he had to get up and live because he didn't kill Izaya yet. But now there was nothing. Just him and his misery.

And then and there he knew that he would give anything to have him back. He would give up his name, his honor, none of it mattered anymore.

And so the hard ground is a comfort to weary bones. Some of the Izaya's blood pools onto the ground, forming bloody roses. Blood like roses…

It is fitting, he thinks.

And it is only them, side by side in death. He pays no heed to the tears streaming down his face. For now he knows just what was lost. He wears his tears with pride. He is not ashamed. Shizuo allows the anguish and remorse to rack him, shake him like a storm until he cannot breathe.

He was so tired of this. So very tired…

Overwhelming sadness and loneliness stings him and envelopes him. The shadows overcome him and he does not fight it. He just wants his suffering to end. Maybe he'll wake up and this will all be a dream. Because that's all it was. A mistake, a nightmare.

No more…

The darkness is comforting, and he hopes it will stay. His last thoughts go unspoken, but he is beyond caring. He wants nothing to do with this place anymore. There is too much death involved…

He hated violence. He really did.


End file.
